This novel isn’t getting great reviews because people who read Laura Lippman aren’t looking for real literature and people who are looking for literature don’t seek out books by Lippman.
Lippman is the author of solid, if somewhat pedestrian, murder mysteries. I read all of them and remember not a word. She also wrote a bunch of stand-alone mysteries. Those I do remember but only because they were quite outstandingly bad. Dream Girl is by far the best Lippman has ever written. It’s real literature.
Curiously, the whole novel is Lippman’s unending, #MeTootery pout about not being considered a serious author. Of course, she attributes that to her sex. The real reason, though, is that she’s a shallow, unserious reader, which makes her a worse author than she could be. Her whole career, Lippman hid behind the conventions of a mystery genre. Now she’s hiding behind the conventions of “in the era of #MeToo” genre.
In spite of the awkward, tedious #MeTooting, it’s a good novel. I won’t forget it like I forgot Lippman’s mysteries.
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